Awake in Venice

I could hear the water lapping against the side of the vaporetto as I watched the sun rise above the lagoon. Venezia, newly bereft its blanket of nighttime darkness, stood starkly beautiful in the morning light. I could see the outlines of the snowy Dolomites above the many camponile that darted above the city. The buildings grew in size as the vaporetto maneuvered to land at the stop. With a groan, the boat hit the dock and the aviator man deftly secured the boat with rope. I stepped across the angry gap onto the rocking dock and walked out into the city.

It was 8:40 am and the city was silent. Never before had I seen the street along the lagoon with so few people; even the illegal purse sellers were absent. In a stunned silence of my own, I walked towards the Piazza San Marco.

It too was quiet. A few other lone tourists wandered about, similarly mesmerized by the solitude early morning sojourning afforded. I felt... relaxed. Never before in the presence of the Doge's palace or the Basilica had I felt at peace. Normally, the place is filled with the frantic hustle of tourists emitting the irresitable urge to photograph. Take a picture of this, of that, run over here, run over there, there's only so much time! It was gone, and I found that I could examine the details of each column capital on the Doge's palace, which I did, and the details on the entry to the Giant's Stairwell. I understand that, compared to the typical visitor, I have the luxury of time in which to see the details, but the experience of savoring and analyzing all the nooks and crannies of a place is exponential better than the typical tourist experience. I noticed that on one corner of the Doge's palace was carved Adam, Eve, the Serpent, and the tree, with leavesjudiciously covering their genitals. I noticed that one of the quarterfoils on the palace was actually replaced by a piece of stonework. I found my favorite column capital, containing carvings of various baskets of fruit with their Italian names.

I crossed the Piazza on my way to Campo San Stefano. What a difference a crowd makes! I think it is the sense of the panoptic eye, a general sense that you are being watched and that you must behave accordingly or "they" will disapprove. Or maybe that's just paranoia. It is this feeling that causes one to feel the need to impulsively take pictures around tourists, or to permanently hide the camera around locals and shuffle past with hardly a look at the surroundings. When no one is around, you are free of this gaze and are allowed to interact with the city as you wish. The loud noise of the panoptic crowd is replaced with the voices of the buildings, spaces, and details that were previously drowned out by the chatter of voices and clatter of footsteps.

How blissful! Solitude in the city! Merchants who, in a few hours, would be aggressively hawking overpriced goods to tourists were now slowly setting up shop: wiping down the windows, rearranging items, counting the change in the cash register, vacuuming. Men were unloading boats and teamsters pulled carts over the stairs. A few solemn tourists walked through the calli. There were people and voices, but each individual was swallowed by the city leaving a quiet peace.

This is the perfect atmosphere for photography. Any other time, I felt degenerate for pulling out the camera; here I felt degenerate for leaving it tucked away. Where before I would dash to a spot to take a picture discretely, now I would ponder the angles and composition of the image; I could afford to be a photographer instead of a camera jockey.

Returning from Campo San Stefano, the Crowd was beginning to form. The lone tourist, merchant, workman of before was a seed crystal for the crowd; now they had accumulated their first few layers of people. The city still dominated -the small clumps of people were swallowed up, painfully, by the architecture. Venice remained triumphant. But the noise increase, and the panoptic eye returned.

Turning the corner of the Doge's Palace, I was stupified by what I saw. There were herds of people coming into the city. They poured out of the vaporetto stops and crashed across the bridges as thick as the bison that once blanketed the American Plains with shaggy monotony. The Venice of the morning was dead, and the Venice of the day had begun.